The Age of the Cathedrals
by Lyn Harkeran
Summary: What if Esmeralda had had a sister to share her troubles? What if Gringoire had married her, instead of the beautiful green eyed gypsy? Mainly based on Notre Dame de Paris the musical and Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame. Gringoire/OC Esmeralda/Quasimodo
1. Prelude: The Age the of the Cathdrals

**Prelude: The Age of the Cathedrals**

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><p>It was a beautiful day; surprisingly warm for autumn, with only the slightest of breezes. The sun shone on the water and made it sparkle as if it was made of crystal glass. But far more beautiful, than the river, was Notre Dame herself.<p>

The Magnificent Cathedral towered over everything else in sight, and demanded attention. For many years she had stood vigil over Paris, and yet something was missing. Notre Dame was not the same.

In past years, the extravagant building had seen many monstrosities, but it seemed the latest one, had changed her forever. The bells of Notre Dame no longer rang out for joy; for they had lost their ringer. Nothing was as it should be. The world was Topsy Tirvy.

No longer did the gypsies dance in the streets, or beggars beg near the church. No longer did the Court of Miracles remain safe from harm. Notre Dame was vulnerable, and scared. She missed her Hunchback, and the joy he brought her. But sadly she would never see Quasimodo again.

The Bell-Ringer was gone.

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><p>Two figures walked through the streets of the city, hand in hand. Their world had been turned upside down, and yet they were still standing. They had lost loved ones, and many friends, and yet they still lived.<p>

The man and woman, who walked together, would have once danced and sung in the town square, but now, they remained silent as they trudged to their destination.

But as they neared the towering Cathedral the woman stopped to stare at the stained glass windows solemnly.

The man, her other half, followed her gaze. "Shall we pay Her one more visit chérie?"

The woman nodded, "We must."

The two climbed the giant stone steps of Notre Dame, and sat at the very top, looking towards the building itself. Though they both loved Her, they had come to hate the dark looming cathedral, and what people thought she stood for.

The woman looked to her husband and smiled wistfully. "Will you sing us a song, Poet Gringoire?"

The handsome man cocked his head to the side, and smiled at his wife. "With pleasure, Mademoiselle Vadoma. But is it that I am meant to sing?"

"The song, you sang the day we met." The woman replied.

Gringoire chuckled, "I've sung it plenty of times. Would you not prefer something special, as our parting gift to Notre Dame?"

Vadoma shook her head. "Nay, Pierre. For the song you sang the day we met, brought all of us together. And it is on that note, we shall depart."

The bard, who was usually playful, looked at his wife seriously. "But you have lost everyone. Will it not hurt you to remember?"

"The only way to move on, my love, is to remember the past." The woman returned, in a sort of daze. "Come, I will sing it with you. And then let us say our goodbyes."

Pierre Gringoire pulled his wife to his side, nuzzling her tenderly as he began to sing.

_**"This is a tale that takes its place, in Paris fair, this year of grace.**_

_**Fourteen hundred eighty two: A tale of lust and love so true.**_

_**We are the artists of the time, we dream in sculpture dream in rhyme.**_

_**For you we bring our world alive, so something will survive."**_

As Vadoma began to sing along with her husband, she remembered the past, and all the people that had been lost. She remembered: Djali the lovely little goat, Esmeralda the Gypsy Dancer, Clopin Trouillefou the King of the Court of Miracles, and the shy bell-ringer Quasimodo.

They were all gone now. And yet she still remembered.

"_**From nowhere came the age of the cathedrals.**_

_**The old world began.**_

_**A new unknown, thousand years.**_

_**For man just has to climb up where the stars are, and live beyond life.**_

_**Live in glass and live in stone."**_

As the two of their voices entwined around the words, they looked up to Notre Dame and both cried. They had lost so much. . . But they would make it right, for the ones who had died. . .

"_**Stone after stone, day after day; from year to year man had his way.**_

_**Men had built with faith and love. These cathedrals rose above.**_

_**We troubadours and poets sing. That love is all and everything.**_

_**We promise you, all human kind. Tomorrow will be fine.**_

_**From nowhere came the age of the cathedrals.**_

_**The old world began.**_

_**A new unknown, thousand years.**_

_**For man just has to climb up where the stars are.**_

_**And live beyond life.**_

_**Live in glass and live in stone. . .  
><strong>_

_**From nowhere came the age of the cathedrals.**_

_**The old world began.**_

_**A new unknown thousand years.**_

_**For man just has to climb up where the stars are.**_

_**And live beyond life.**_

_**Live in glass and live in stone. . .  
><strong>_

_**But it is doomed the age of the cathedrals.**_

_**Barbarians wait.**_

_**At the gates of Paris fair.**_

_**Oh let them in, these pagans and these vandals.**_

_**A wise man once said.**_

_**In two thousand, this world ends.**_

_**In two thousand, this world ends."**_

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><p>"<strong>They found among all those hideous carcasses, two skeletons, one of which held the other in its embrace. One of these skeletons, which was that of a woman, still had a few strips of a garment which had once been white. <strong>

**The other, which held this one in a close embrace, was the skeleton of a man. It was noticed that his spinal column was crooked, his head seated on his shoulder blades, and that one leg was shorter than the other. Moreover, there was no fracture of the vertebrae at the nape of the neck, and it was evident that he had not been hanged. Hence, the man to whom it had belonged had come thither and had died there. When they tried to detach the skeleton which he held in his embrace, he fell to dust."** _– Notre Dame de Paris, Victor Hugo._

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><p><em>Hey guys! I finally bucked up and decided to write a fic for Notre Dame de Paris the Musical! Oh. My. Gosh. This musical equals love! I can't get enough of it! *squeals like the fangirl I am* <em>

_Anyway, the quotes are from the musical and the original novel by Victor Hugo. There will also be a little of Disney's version in here too! I'm totally mixing them all together! *woop woop* _

_This story is Gringoire/OC based, but will also have some Esmeralda/Quasimodo, just because we love it so much! *gush gush* I don't know how long this fic will be, but hopefully, I can make a nice little story out of it! Thanks guys! _

_~Lyn Harkeran  
><em>


	2. Chapter One: A Place of Miracles

**A Place of Miracles**

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><p>"<em><strong>Where do you come from, beautiful stranger?<strong>_

_**Daughter of Heaven, or of Earth?**_

_**Beautiful bird of paradise**_

_**Why have you settled here?" **_

. . .

"_**Bohemian**_

_**No one knows our country**_

_**Bohemian **_

_**We are children of the road**_

_**Bohemian, Bohemian**_

_**Who can say where we'll be tomorrow**_

_**Bohemian, Bohemian**_

_**It's written in the palms of my hands." **_

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><p><em><strong>9 years ago. . . <strong>_

A woman walked steadily through the snow, her arms enclosed around a small blanket, sheltering it from the cold winter winds. The woman kept her head down, and kept her steps short, so as not to fall on an unseen patch of ice.

"Mother. . . I'm cold."

The delicate woman turned her head to acknowledge the girl of 10 years that followed in her footsteps.

"Almost there my dear Vadoma," she replied with an encouraging smile. "Why don't you think of something nice to overcome the winter's chill?"

The girl nodded, and continued onward after her mother, thinking of fresh bread from the bakery only several blocks from their home. Oh, the smell of it even in her head was beyond compare. If only she could have a piece. . .

It had been two days since the little girl had had food, and she would have been weak from fatigue if she hadn't been used to not eating frequently.

Every day Vadoma fought to survive, and at night she lay by her mother's side and thanked the heavens that she was still alive. Since she had reached her fourth year of life, it had been the way she lived, and now it was second nature to her. Every day the girl lived, as if it were her last. And every day she fought to keep a smile on her face.

Vadoma followed silently as her mother led her past an old monastery, and deep into the 'Cemetery la Condamné.'

The girl ran to keep up with her mother, imagining all sorts of monsters lurking behind the large pillars of stone, and the solemn marble angels.

Her mother seeing her fear, freed one of her hands from the blanket she carried, and wrapped it around her daughter. Her emerald green eyes warmed as they meet her daughters' dark brown ones. "There is no need for fear little one. The dead are peaceful tonight, and all is well."

"I don't fear the dead," the girl answered as she clung to the woman's side.

"Than what do you fear?"

Vadoma thought for a moment before she answered. "I dread the night mamma, and all things of it."

The woman smiled knowingly as they began to walk again, though this time side by side.

"Not all darkness is night Vadoma," the woman explained gently. "And not all goodness is Light."

"But how can that be," the little girl wondered aloud.

"Monsters of the night can be kindhearted, and the most beautiful of humans can be cruel. Looks aren't anything in this world. Remember that my little one and all will love you as I love you."

"I promise mamma. I will remember. . ." Though Vadoma didn't understand completely, she made a vow that she would never forget her mother's words. Never, ever.

"We are here," the delicate woman said as she stopped in front of a large crypt near the back of the large cemetery. The woman fixed the blanket in her arms before she looked down at her daughter anxiously. "Stay close to me child, and don't let a word escape your lips until I say so."

Vadoma nodded, and watched with wide eyes as her mother moved the coffin lid to the reveal a flight of stone steps leading down into the catacombs. The two descended into the Paris' sewers, and the crypt door closed silently of its own accord.

It was pitch black and Vadoma reached out frantically for her mother's skirt. When she found it she patted her mother and they began to walk.

Though there was no light, Vadoma's mother walked as if she knew exactly where she was going. And soon they had come to a large door, with colorful carvings on its surface. The woman lifted up her thin hand and knocked on the wood, thrice, and was immediately answered by a rich voice.

"Who seeks passage here?"

Vadoma's mother spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. "I am Jaelle Roma, cousin to Clopin Trouillefou. This is my daughter Vadoma Mariel Roma, and we seek the right to Asylum and an audience with the King of La Cour De Miracles."

The voice didn't reply for a few moments, but when it did, it was laced with skepticism. "What is the password of the Court, Jaelle de Roma?"

The woman answered, her beautiful voice rising and falling with the heartfelt words._** "Nous sommes des nomades libres dans ce pays. Nous n'avons qu'une seule famille... Sous Dieu nous sommes tous égaux... Ananké est le mot final..."**_

The man remained silent for a moment, before the door creaked open. And a handsome face peered out.

A happy smile spread across Jaelle's face as she recognized the man standing before her. "Cousin, it has been far too long."

The man returned the smile, "Indeed it has Jaelle. For a moment, I thought you were an imposter trying to gain passage, by lying."

The woman shook her head, "If the guards at the entrance had thought me a threat, they wouldn't have let me pass through the catacombs Clopin."

Clopin laughed, and Vadoma couldn't help but smile, as she hid in the folds of her mother's garment. His laugh was hearty and loud, and it was completely genuine.

Clopin side stepped, "Please Mon Cher come in. You and your little one are welcome here."

Jaelle and Vadoma walked past the tall lanky man, and into a brightly lit room, full of torches, and mirrors. Vadoma was overwhelmed by all the reflections and shut her eyes tightly so as not to get dizzy.

Clopin shut the door, and turned to the two females, his eyes coming to rest on the 10 year old. And as he looked at her, a warm expression spread across his face. And the man knelt down to her height so their eyes met as he inclined his head in greeting.

"Good evening Madame."

Vadoma nodded back to him shyly from her place at her mother's side, and curtsied, "Bonjour."

Clopin smiled, and took her smaller hand in his own rough one, and kissed it gently, like one would kiss the hand of a lady.

"Remind me of your name Mon Cher. . . It has escaped my mind with all the excitement."

"Vadoma," the girl said. She liked this funny man, more and more with each passing second. He didn't talk to her like most adults did, and he seemed to think she was interesting.

"Well, Vadoma," Clopin said with a toothy grin, "Welcome to my Court."

Vadoma giggled and looked up to her mother, to see her smiling too. The girl hadn't felt so happy in a long time, and it was long overdue.

Clopin stood back to his full height and turned his attention back to his cousin. "I have missed you Jaelle. But tell me, where on earth have you been hiding these long years? And why have you not come back to us before now?"

Jaelle was about to answer when the blanket in her arms began to move, and a small sigh came from within.

Clopin Trouillefou lifted an eyebrow. "Cousin, what else have you brought with you?"

Jaelle pulled the blanket back to show a beautiful child that was fast asleep. Her little hands curled into themselves in the most peaceful fashion possible. And Clopin gave a chuckle in astonishment.

"Goodness cousin! And here I thought it was just an old blanket! What is this babes' name?"

"Esmeralda," Jaelle answered kissing the forehead of her youngest daughter.

"Esmeralda," Clopin repeated in wonder. Before he continued, "You have been blessed with two beautiful daughters Jaelle."

"Yes, God has smiled at me." The woman agreed.

At that exact moment, Vadoma's stomach growled loudly, and both adults looked to the child. The girl blushed in embarrassment, and looked at the ground, hating the fact that the man now knew she was hungry.

Clopin smacked his forehead with his palm cursing under his breath. "My apologizes Vadoma, you must be starving! Please follow me, and we'll get you something to eat."

Even though the girl was embarrassed, she could help but smile. The thought of food, was so wonderful.

The small group walked through the room of mirrors, and exited on the other side to reveal yet another door.

"We have the mirror room, and this second door, as a defense against outsiders." Clopin explained as he opened knocked on the door. "The time it takes someone to figure out which way to go, we have already been alerted to an intruder, and we have time to react this way."

A voice called out to them, but this time it was female. "Who seeks passage here?"

"Clopin, and three guests." The King answered flashing another grin at the 10 year old.

The door swung open and a stout gypsy woman with a light brown dress appeared. She bowed slightly before she stepped aside to let them pass.

"Thank you Laura," Clopin called as the woman returned back to her watch.

Vadoma looked around in awe, at the beauty before her. A large ceiling city underground met her eyes. Fabrics of every color and shade met her eyes, along with flowers and tents.

"What do you think of my home, little one?" Clopin asked as he watched the girl stare.

Vadoma looked up at him, her eyes sparkling as she replied, "It is a place of miracles."

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><p><em>Sorry, I know nothing really exciting happened in this chapter, but it was very necessary. I wanted to show you Vadoma and Clopin's first meeting. And also wanted you to meet Jaelle Roma. ;) For those of you who have seen the musical or read the original novel, I know this is not accurate. Esmeralda's mother was that crazy lady. . . But that just didn't feel right to me. . . So in my story her mother is Jaelle Roma the noble gypsy woman, cousin to Clopin Trouillefou the King of the Court of Miracles!<em>

_And the Translation for the password, is this. **"We are free nomads in this land. We have but one family. . . Under God we are all equal. . .Ananke is the finale word . . . "**_

_And the lyrics from the beginning are from the song Bohemian, from the Musical Notre Dame de Paris._


	3. Chapter Two: The Prince of Paris

**The Prince of Paris **

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><p><em><strong>August, 1482<strong>_

Vadoma shouldered her shawl and leaned down to the sleeping form of her younger sister. As her lips left the girl's forehead, she couldn't help but smile.

It had been seven years since they had first come to live in the Court of Miracles, and now it had become their home. The two females were no longer considered children in the community; now they were women.

Vadoma took one last look at the beautiful Esmeralda, before she opened the flap in the tent and left.

The Court of Miracles was calm in the early morning, even though it was a very special day.

The first day of every week was a big day for all the gypsies that called the Court de Miracles their home. It was a day when everyone went out into the city and sold their wares to the passersby. And in some cases, steal things that were needed in the community. Vadoma was no exception, though unlike the other gypsies, she hated Mondays.

Her stomach growled at her as she approached the main square, where a large table was surrounded by all sorts of items. Vadoma waited in the small line that had formed in front of the table patiently, and soon it was her turn.

A beautiful woman with shoulder length maroon colored hair smiled at the girl before her, "A good morning to you, Vadoma."

Vadoma returned the woman's smile, "And to you, Gwenevere."

Gwenevere reached out her hand and brushed the girls' cheek, lovingly. Vadoma blushed, and held onto the woman's hand. The warmth comforted her, and made her feel safe. The two shared an exchanging of kisses, and hugged.

Since the death Jaelle Roma several years prior, Clopin Trouillefou and his wife, Gwenevere, had taken the place of a surrogate parents for the two girls, and had loved them like they were their own children. Gwenevere and Vadoma had become especially close, in the last past year, and were the best of friends.

Vadoma pulled away from the hug, wishing she could have stayed with her friend all day, but alas, she was cursed by the King himself to go out into the Paris streets to sell.

"What shall I be selling today, Gwen?" The girl asked half-heartedly, her dark brown eyes gazing dejectedly at the large pile of wares behind the woman.

The Queen gave the girl a sympathetic look. "Sorry love, I'm sure you'll do great today. Just be confident in your decisions and go with your gut, and everything will be okay."

Vadoma admired her Queen. She was always so optimistic, and kind. It seemed nothing could faze her.

"You have a lot of faith in me Gwen; I just hope I don't disappoint you."

"You could never disappoint us_, Mon Cher_," a voice said softly from behind her. Vadoma turned to see her surrogate father smiling at her. Clopin spread his arms wide, inviting her. Vadoma didn't think twice as she let her King wrap his long arms around her. As he let her go, she heard him chuckle.

"Well, someone was in desperate need of a hug."

Vadoma blushed, and then playfully punched her guardian's arm, "Only because you make me sell Clopin."

Clopin frowned, "Vadoma."

"I know, Clopin." The girl rolled her eyes. "I don't want to argue, with you."

Clopin ruffled the girl's hair, and then joined his wife behind the large table. "Gwen," he greeted kissing her forehead gently, before his hand rested on her stomach. "How is our little one doing?"

Gwenevere laughed sweetly, "Well, my King."

Clopin leaned down and kissed her stomach, before he looked back up at Gwenevere. "I'll let you get back to work, _belle. _I just wanted to say goodbye before I left."

"Be safe, Clopin." Gwenevere said placing a tender kiss on his cheek.

"And you," Clopin replied, returning the kiss.

Without another word, the King of the Cour des Miracles left, and Gwen turned back to Vadoma, a basket of apples in her hand.

"I had you trade Flora today. I thought maybe food would be easier to sell, than cloth and wool."

Vadoma smiled gratefully and took the basket. "Thanks Gwen."

Gwenevere Roma inclined her head in farewell, "Have a good day love, and be careful."

"I will, Gwenevere. See you tonight, at dinner."

The Queen watched with her beautiful olive green eyes, as the girl of seventeen walk towards the door that led out of the Court. She prayed with all her heart that the girl would do better today than last time.

Last Monday, the girl had nearly been arrested for stealing, though she hadn't. And now the already shy girl was even more terrified of leaving the Court.

Gwenevere handed another assignment item to another one of her subjects, and prayed.

"_Ave Maria, keep her safe and protect her, as she leaves her home. Bless your child Vadoma Mariel Roma, as she finds her place in this world. Please hold her close to your heart, as I do. Show her your love, and let her grow. . . Ave Maria, stay with your child Vadoma . . ." _

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><p>As Vadoma exited the Cemetery and entered the main streets of the city, the girl lost herself in the beauty of the day. It was still morning, and yet the day was already hot with the summer heat. But Vadoma didn't mind. The freedom of the summer, far out-weighed the sun's rays upon her head.<p>

The rather large basket of fresh pick apples slung over her healthy arm, the seventeen year old girl walked towards the area that Flora usually took, which was near the great cathedral Notre Dame. Vadoma had seen the elegant building from a distance thousands of times, but never before had she seen it up close, and she was excited.

Soon, she was walking through the last of the businesses and houses, and Notre Dame was in full sight. Vadoma took a large intake of breath. Never before had she seen such an angelic and mysterious structure. Each stone seemed like it was trying to whisper some special message to her, and just as she began to understand what it was saying, another stone took its place whispering even more secrets.

The girl would have tried to listen to the Cathedrals' words for hours, if a voice hadn't interrupted her line of thought.

"Come one! Come all! And heed the words of the Bard!"

Vadoma turned her head, trying to follow the voice. And after a moment, she spotted a small crowd of children that had gathered near the bottom of the massive steps. As the gypsy woman drew nearer, she saw that in the center of the group was a man dressed in a blue patched coat, and colorful leggings. His hair was a long puffy tangle of wavy brown curls that came past his shoulders, and his caramel colored eyes said more, than words ever could.

Vadoma stood back from the crowd, though she continued to watch the man with curious eyes.

The man smiled as more people stopped to observe him. And he stood, with his head tipped downward, almost as if he was studying the steps, other than the people that now surrounded him.

"Why have you called to us, bard? Have you nothing to say?" A voice called from the crowd, causing murmurs to erupt from the others.

The Bard lifted his head, a charming smile on his lips. "I have called to you good sir, so you would listen to my words."

"What words," the same man asked.

The Bard's smile grew even wider, "What words indeed."

Casually he lifted up his hands which held a beautifully crafted lute, and began to play a melody. And soon, his voice joined the instruments song.

"_**This is a tale that takes its place- In Paris fair, this year of grace.**_

_**Fourteen hundred eighty two - A tale of lust and love so true.**_

_**We are the artists of the time, we dream in sculpture dream in rhyme.**_

_**For you we bring our world alive, so something will survive." **_

Vadoma felt her heart melt as the man sang. She had never heard such a heartfelt voice in all her life. The girl slowly slumped to the stone steps, her eyes sliding closed, as she listened enraptured to the bards song.

"_**From nowhere came the age of the cathedrals.**_

_**The old world began.**_

_**A new unknown thousand years.**_

_**For man just has to climb up where the stars are.**_

_**And live beyond life.**_

_**Live in glass and live in stone.**_

_**Stone after stone, day after day - From year to year man had his way.**_

_**Men had built with faith and love - These cathedrals rose above.**_

_**We troubadours and poets sing. That love is all and everything.**_

_**We promise you, all human kind. Tomorrow will be fine."**_

Vadoma smiled as the poet began to sing the chorus once more. She prayed that he would never stop singing, for she feared her heart would break if he did.

"_**From nowhere came the age of the cathedrals.**_

_**The old world began.**_

_**A new unknown, thousand years.**_

_**For man just has to climb up where the stars are.**_

_**And live beyond life.**_

_**Live in glass and live in stone.**_

_**From nowhere came the age of the cathedrals.**_

_**The old world began.**_

_**A new unknown thousand years.**_

_**For man just has to climb up where the stars are.**_

_**And live beyond life.**_

_**Live in glass and live in stone."**_

The Bard strummed his lute with a lively energy, and the song soared like it had a life of its own. The man tipped his head back to the sky, as he sang of the future.

"_**But it is doomed the age of the cathedrals.**_

_**Barbarians wait.**_

_**At the gates of Paris fair.**_

_**Oh let them in, these pagans and these vandals.**_

_**A wise man once said.**_

_**In two thousand, this world ends.**_

_**In two thousand, this will end. . . "**_

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><p>Vadoma had watched as the man, had collected a few meager coins for his song, and had sat down on the last step of Notre Dame. For the next hour, the man had sung song after song, until the sun was high in the sky.<p>

The girl waited until the crowd had left before she slowly approached the handsome bard.

He looked up at her and smiled, "Bonjour Mademoiselle."

Vadoma cheeks immediately turned a red, and for the millionth time in her short life, she was thankful for her brown skin.

"Might I have your name sir," she whispered, her eyes looking everywhere but his face.

The Bard swept into a low bow, his wild mass of hair falling into his face. "I am the Prince of the Streets of Paris," he declared with such force, that the girl didn't doubt him.

When the Prince was standing tall once more, Vadoma picked an apple from her basket, and held it out towards the bard. When he didn't take it Vadoma explained. "Take it, as payment for the song."

The Bard reached out his left hand to take the apple, and Vadoma handed it to him. He took a large bit out of the sweet fruit, and nodded his thanks. As he looked down at the apple he said, "Merci Mademoiselle. But tell me, what is your name?"

When he was met with silence, the poet looked up, but the girl was gone. He shrugged, and took another bite of the apple. It had been a good day for him.

* * *

><p>Vadoma cursed herself for running away. Why was she such a coward?<p>

The girl watched silently as the handsome bard walked away from Notre Dame, into the main part of the city. As he disappeared from sight, the felt something inside her die, and closed her eyes.

Vadoma pushed all thoughts from her mind, as she walked down the steps of the great Cathedral. Though she couldn't come to terms with it, her life had changed forever. The Prince of the Streets had left an impression that challenged all others.

Could it be possible, that Vadoma Mariel Roma was in love?

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><p><strong><em>Here's the next chapter guys! I hope you like it! Gwenevere is the amazing OC my friend, 'TheLastUnicorn1985'. You can find her on Deviant Art <em>**

**_I know I already typed the Lyrics for the song 'The Age of the Cathedrals' but Gringoire sang it so I had to put them again. (Just a little advice. . . . If you want goosebumps and the ultimate reading experience, listen to the actual song, "Le Temps Des Cathedrales" in french, by Bruno Pelletier. There are no words! _**

**_Please leave reviews! I want to hear what you guys think!_ **

**_~Lyn Harkeran_ **


	4. Chapter Three: Memory of a Meeting

Author's Note: Bold Italics are Clopin, and Light Italics are Gwenevere

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><p><strong>Memory of a Meeting<strong>

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><p>Gwenevere Roma the Queen of the Cour des Miracles gave a sigh as she handed the last of the assignments to an older woman with a bad leg and rotted yellowed teeth. The beautiful woman with stunning maroon hair smiled at the crone pleasantly. "How are you today, Helene?"<p>

Old Helene smiled back at her Queen. Though Gwenevere was only 19 summers old, she was a figure who demanded respect and love from all who knew her.

"I'm still kickin' Gwenevere."

Gwen laughed and the smile reached all the way up to her olive colored eyes. "I am glad to hear it."

Helene bowed her head in respect as was custom, before she lifted her head and took the trinkets that she was meant to sell that day. Before the crone left she looked at her Queen and asked, "Do you know that one of your kin is still in her cot, sleeping the day away, Gwenevere?"

Gwenevere's brow furrowed slightly. "Vadoma left two hours ago Helene. . ."

The old woman shook her head. "Not Vadoma Mariel. I speak of La Esmeralda."

Gwen nodded in understanding, "I'll go check on her. Thank you Helene."

Helene bowed again and left muttering under her breath about lazy youth.

Gwen shook her head as she watched the woman leave, and giggled at the woman's sour mood.

Though Helene could be snappish at times, and a busybody, she was always reliable and very wise. Most of the gypsies in the community looked to her for guidance whenever they were in crisis. And the old woman would willingly help them.

Helene Vedette was the official healer and midwife of the Court, and had been since Clopin's mother the gentle Queen Celeste had given birth to her heir.

Gwenevere decided to make good on her promise, and left the main square of the Court. She walked slowly, and took in the sights around her with avid pleasure. Though she was a Queen, the woman was still a new member of the Court. She had only lived within la Cour des Miracles solace for two years, and she was still learning about the laws and customs of the Paris Gypsies.

Though she often made mistakes the woman was a quick learner, and wasn't one to give up easily. It was one of the qualities Clopin had been attracted too when they first met.

After a few more minutes of walking, the maroon haired woman stood in front of her destination. The tent looked average and peaceful at the moment, but the woman wasn't fooled.

Cautiously, Gwenevere pulled back the tent's flap and entered the small sleeping quarters.

The sight that met her was a frightening one indeed.

Esmeralda sat on the edge of her cot, her hair sticking up in random clumps, and her eyes were a bright red as if she had been crying. And to top it off the girl still only wore her sleeping gown, which was wrinkled beyond belief.

The Queen didn't have to ask the girl what was wrong; she already knew the answer. Instead of useless inquiry, the woman sat down beside the girl and brought her into a tender hug.

As soon as Esmeraldas' head touched her shoulder the girls' tears returned, and she shook with sobs.

Gwen rubbed her back steadily and crooned an old lullaby she knew in effort to calm her. And soon the worst of the girl's tears had passed.

Esmeralda looked up at her friend and sniffed. "I'm so sorry Gwen!"

Gwen shushed her immediately. "Dear, why are you sorry? You've done nothing wrong."

Esmeralda pouted her bottom lip slightly. "I have spilled my tears all over your dress. . ."

Gwen waved her hand in a devil may care gesture. "It's a dress Esmeralda. It can be cleaned or dried." When the girl still seemed unconvinced the woman continued, "And besides, tears need to be let out. Or they _will _eat at us from the _inside out_."

Esmeralda pulled away from the motherly figure and gave her a messy smile, "Thank you."

Gwen nodded and stood up. "Now, let's get down to business!"

After a second she spotted the item she needed. Quickly, Gwenevere grabbed the hair brush that lay on top of Esmeralda's dress, and retook her place sitting next to the girl.

"Turn," she ordered fingering the brush with her deft fingers. "We've got to get you ready."

Esmeralda obediently turned around and let Gwen begin to brush her hair. Gwenevere combed the girls' hair with a passion that made the Esmeralda wince and her long dark curls undo themselves. Throughout the process Gwenevere muttered a few apologizes for the hair she was pulling, but remained firm in her work.

When the Queen stopped brushing, Esmeralda's hair was plaited into a beautiful wavy array, and her curls were as soft as fresh churned butter.

Gwen smiled in triumph, "That's more like it! Now let's get your dress on. After all, we can't have _La Esmeralda _dancing in her bed cloths, can we?"

Esmeralda laughed, "I suppose not."

Gwen smiled as she lifted up the beautiful emerald green dress and helped the girl into it. As the Queen adjusted the small bobbles on the outside layer, the young began to talk to her.

"Gwen. . . I dreamed about my mother again. . . That's why I was crying when you came in." Esmeralda admitted in a wistful whisper.

Gwen's smile disappeared as she straightened and hugged the girl, "I know."

Esmeralda's eyes began to water once more. "I just miss her so much. . ."

Gwenevere turned the girl so that she could see her face. And wiping the tears from the girls' cheeks she replied, "Have you talked to Vadoma about your mother?"

Esmeralda gave a huff and her eyes grew cold, "No."

"Why not," Gwenevere asked with curiously.

Esmeralda pushed away from Gwen and slid her bandana into place on her head. "She wouldn't understand."

"Why wouldn't she understand Esmeralda?"

Esmeralda shook her head, "I don't want to talk about it Gwen."

Gwenevere frowned, but didn't press the subject. After all, the Queen wasn't one to judge others.

Esmeralda turned around and was now smiling again. "I'm ready!"

Gwen gave her a sincere smile in return. "You look beautiful, _belle_. Now you better hurry or someone will take your street corner."

Esmeralda grabbed her tambourine, and ran out of the tent in a flash of false gold, and bells.

Then, Gwen heard the girl call out, "Djali! Djali, you dear goat! Come girl, we have dancing to do!"

Gwen shook her head as the girl disappeared from sight, her motherly instincts overpowering her.

Esmeralda was so beautiful and smart; and yet . . . so naive. The Queen worried for her constantly. And deep down she knew that beauty would be the girls' ultimate downfall.

But what could she do?

* * *

><p>Gwen entered her own tent and laid down on the bed she shared with Clopin. She was tired from the morning's activities, and had decided to take a nap before the main population of the Court returned for the night's festivities.<p>

The Queen didn't know how long she stared at the ceiling of her tent, but after a while her eyes closed and she fell into a fitful slumber, as she remembered her past.

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>2 years prior. . .<span> **_

Gwenevere brushed through her hair with her fingers once more praying that she would look alright. After all, this wasn't just any performance. It was the day of days for all performers! It was the Feast of Fools!

The girl looked down at herself with an observant eye. If she didn't look clean, no one would stop to watch her dance. And she would go hungry, once again.

Sadly, appearance was the only way the young woman could get food on the streets of Paris.

The youths' dress was of a simple gypsy design with mixed colors of forest greens, and several different shades of plum. Bangles hung from the shoulders and arms in a mannerly fashion, so that when the girl moved the sound of bells rang out.

Her dearly departed mother had always worn bells when she performed, and now the girl danced in her mother's footsteps. Without the beautiful little jingling, the dance was only half-hearted, and one could_** not**_ be half-hearted on the Feast of Fools!

It was still quite early, only 5:00 am, and already the streets were full of people. Since it was a holiday for all, the average, everyday work was put to a halt and everyone partied. The sky was still dark so large torches had been set up on every street, lighting the way for all the passersby. And as the presence of the sun grew closer, the smiles on the faces grew larger too.

On this glorious day, one had four major entertainments to choose from. There was of course the parade in the main square, where the King of Fools would be chosen. This stunning performance would be followed by a play that would last half an hour. And at the same time, on the other side of Paris, there was also the Place de Greve where one could watch as fireworks were shot up into the winter sky; or one could go to the Chapel of Braque to watch the May Tree planted, for the blessing of a new year. So many choices and so little time it seemed.

Gwenevere took a deep breath as the first rays of the sun pierced the sky. It was time. The girl whistled to her dog, Trissie to join her.

Trissie was a stray with beautiful black fur and soft dark brown eyes. She was a faithful dog, and had protected her master more times than either of them could count. As such the two were inseparable friends, and frequently depended on each other.

Gwen smiled lovingly at Trissie and then began to shake her tambourine in an intricate rhythm. As she sustained the beat a few passersby stopped and watched. When enough people had surrounded her, Gwenevere opened her mouth and began to sing.

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_Where do you come from, beautiful stranger?_

_Daughter of Heaven, or of Earth?_

_My beautiful bird of paradise_

_Why have you settled here?" _

* * *

><p>There were murmurs in the crowd. This beautiful girl with maroon hair, had an elegant voice, and her body seemed unreal as she twisted and swayed. As if she was made up of water.<p>

As the crowd grew larger still, Trissie the dog, walked along in front of the people with a hat in her mouth. She would stop in front of every person, and whine pitifully, so as to collect coins.

The people were so delighted with the show, and the beautiful dog, that they actually began to fill the hat with coins.

Gwenevere nodded thanks to them, and continued to sing and dance. Until she was fully surrounded by cold, smiling, people.

* * *

><p>"<em>Bohemienne . . . No one knows where my story begins.<em>

_Bohemienne . . . I was born on a road that bends._

_Bohemienne . . . Bohemienne. . . Come tomorrow, I'll wander again. _

_Bohemienne . . . Bohemienne . . . My fate's in the palm of my hand." _

* * *

><p>Gwenevere held her notes firmly, but cut the last few short when she noticed another voice join hers in a deeper harmony. Her olive green eyes searched for the singer, and at first she couldn't find him. <em>"Who sings along with me?" <em>She wondered as she continued to dance.

Then the crowd parted and a man joined Gwenevere in the small circle that had formed. He was a lanky and wore a splendid outfit and mask. Gwen smiled and bowed to him.

The man returned the smile willingly, and bowed back to her, the feather of his hat barely missing the cobble stones as he did. Gwenevere was pleased to see that the smile reached his eyes, as he lifted his head again to look at her. Dark brown eyes met olive green ones, and Gwen felt butterflies rise in her stomach. Who was this man, and how did he know the Gypsy song her mother had taught her?

"Bonjour Mademoiselle," The stranger greeted pleasantly. "May I join you, this fine day?"

Gwenevere grinned, "You need not ask permission, Monsieur. You are most welcome."

The man smiled again, showing a couple of gaps between his side teeth. And Gwen found them cute, to her surprise. _"What's gotten into you?" _She prayed that she would regain her composure, or at least be able to begin another song without incident.

"What songs do you know, Sir?" She asked.

"I know many, Mon Cher," the man answered immediately. And then returned, "But what songs do you know?"

Gwenevere shrugged. "Pick us a song then, for I also know many."

The man chuckled, "Very well. . . Let us sing of bells!"

The crowd of people watched the exchange, and laughed. This man was well known to the people, and was a favorite to say the least. But it was apparent; this girl with maroon hair, had no idea who she was speaking to.

Gwen laughed merrily, "Bells? And why would we sing of the bells, when it is La Feast of Fools?"

The man approached her as he answered her. "Why _wouldn't_ we, Mademoiselle. The Feast of Fools is a time for impulsive behavior, and fun for all! Let us take advantage of it!"

Gwenevere didn't want to argue with him so she merely gestured for him to begin, "So be it. Begin us, sire and we shall sing of the bells!"

The man winked at her, and then turned to face the crowd. He sang to them with a rich voice and a commanding presence that was firm and yet consuming in the gentlest way possible. And though Gwen herself was a performer, she couldn't help but be drawn in as well. He had a natural talent.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Morning in Paris, the city awakes- To the bells of Notre Dame<strong>_

_**The fisherman fishes, the bakerman bakes - To the bells of Notre Dame**_

_**To the big bells as loud as the thunder**_

_**To the little bells soft as a psalm**_

_**And some say the soul of the city's - The toll of the bells**_

_**The bells of Notre Dame." **_

* * *

><p>As he paused the audience clapped, and he took a bow. "Mademoiselle," he said, queuing her.<p>

Gwenevere took a deep calming breath, and began to sing.

* * *

><p>"<em>The bells that ring; they are our loves, and they love us well.<em>

_I want to hear them sing, as loud as they can; my pretty bells._

_In thunder or hail, or in wind or in rain. Their song will never fail, singing through joy, singing through pain._

_Bells that ring when we're born, Bells that ring when we die._

_Bells that ring every day, every night, every hour._

_Bells that ring when we pray, Bells that ring when we cry._

_Bells that ring to wake us, when the sun lights the sky."_

* * *

><p>The man nodded to her, and they began to switch between every other verse.<p>

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>For the feast of Rameaux, for bell ringer, Quasimodo."<strong>_

"_For a bright Christmas day and for the day of all saints."_

"_**For annunciation, for the resurrection."**_

"_For St Valentine's day and for when Good Friday comes."_

* * *

><p>The two circled around each other as they sang, merrily for the bells. The crowd smiled, and clapped along to the tune as the sun rose in the sky.<p>

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Celebrations they sing and all processions they ring."<strong>_

"_The most beautiful day it is the feast of our lord." _

"_**Days of years, days of kings."**_

"_Easter day the bells ring."_

"_**And on Pentecost day they sing with bright tongues of flame."**_

"_Confirmation they sing, and communions they ring."_

"_**Bells that toll for our death; Dies Irae, dies illa."**_

"_For ascension they sing, for assumption they ring."_

"_**Bells that bring us hosanna and sing hallelujah."**_

* * *

><p>The man danced around Gwenevere on light feet, his movements just as graceful as hers had been. Gwen began to dance to, the bells on her torso jingling as she moved.<p>

Then to her surprise, the man wrapped his arms securely around her waist, and whispered in her ear, "Dance with me, Mon Cher. . . Dance. . ."

Gwenevere couldn't refuse that voice. . . And found that didn't want to refuse him. So together they danced together. They waltzed around the circle the crowd had made, and he dipped her gracefully, as they continued to sing together.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>The bells that ring; they are our loves, such joy they bring."<strong>_

"_The bells that ring; they are our loves, such joy they bring." _

"_**I want to hear them sing, as loud as they can; those pretty bells."**_

"_I want to hear them sing, as loud as they can; those pretty bells."_

* * *

><p>As they finished singing, the man brought Gwen up from the dip, and spun her away from him, so that they were an arm's length away.<p>

The crowd cheered wildly, and threw coins at their feet. The man bowed to his partner, "You dance and sing beautifully. But might I have your name?"

"Gwenevere," she whispered.

"What a beautiful name," the man complemented her. "I'm Clopin Trouillefou."

Gwenevere nodded to him. "I will never forget your name." She promised quietly.

"Nor I yours," Clopin agreed, before he brought her hand to his lips.

* * *

><p>Gwenevere de Roma opened her eyes and smiled. "You're back."<p>

Clopin looked down at his wife with loving eyes. "Yes, my love. I'm back."

Gwenevere sat up slowly and hugged her husband. "We missed you."

Clopin's eyes softened as he hugged his wife to him, "And I you Gwenevere."

Gwen placed a kiss on his cheek as she cradled her stomach and giggled as the baby kicked her. Clopin also felt the kick, and he smiled. "Our son is strong."

"That he is," Gwenevere agreed, "a little too strong sometimes."

Clopin chuckled, "Your bladder again?"

Gwen only nodded, as she stood and ran from the tent. Clopin watched her go and laughed; his poor wife.

The King of the Cour des Miracles resigned himself to get ready for his subjects' return from the streets of Paris. Though he undoubtedly would have rather stayed in his tent, spending time with his wife, he couldn't ignore his responsibilities as a ruler. So he began to change from his brightly colored clothes, into a more sensible tunic.

As he took of his remaining clothes, he felt two soft hands circle him gently.

"I love you," Gwen whispered.

"I love you too, Belle." Clopin whispered back, relaxing back into her arms. "I love you too."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Hello there! *waves* <strong>_

_**I hope you liked the chapter, cause I most certainly did! xD **_

_**The songs are, "Les Cloches" and "Bohemienne" from Notre Dame de Paris. And, "The Bells of Notre Dame" from Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame. If you have not heard these songs, I suggest you look them up! **_

_**I don't have much to say other than this. **_

_***(If you read this story, please take the time to review it. I love this story, but I need some reviews on it! So please, take the time, and make me happy. *)**_

**_~Lyn Harkeran. _**


	5. Chapter Four: In the Name of Freedom

**In the Name of Freedom**

* * *

><p>Clopin lay beside his wife in their tent, his arms wrapped around her stomach, fingers placed on the spot where his unborn son was currently kicking.<p>

Gwenevere slept peacefully, her maroon hair a tangled disarray and a half smile on her lips. She was tired after the drama that had taken place not too long ago. The Queen moaned gently, as Clopin shifted his weight slightly.

Though it was the wee hours of the morning, the King couldn't sleep. How could he, after what had happened? After his ward had been so close to being captured by the city guards. He blamed himself, for not protecting his cousin's daughters better. And with the blame he felt anger.

With the warmth of summer he had become lax. And because he was lax, he had almost lost one of his own.

"_Guilty, Clopin," _his mind screamed in the darkness._ "Guilty as charged. You should have had one of the men with them at all times. And now, she is hurt. . ." _

Clopin lay completely still, his wife oblivious to his plight, and counted the minutes as they turned to hours. And felt his anger turn into resolve. He would not be lax anymore. He would be prepared next time!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Earlier . . . <strong>_

Vadoma walked through the streets of Paris, showing off her apples, hoping that someone would buy. Though she called out to passersby, her mind was elsewhere. Ever since the young woman had met the poet on the steps of Notre Dame, she hadn't been herself. She walked as if in a daze, her mind only thinking of his dark eyes.

"Who will buy these fine apples," Vadoma called bravely, to the assortment of people moving past her.

At her words, a woman and her daughter drew closer to her.

"_Remember what Gwen said," _Vadoma thought silently. _"Be friendly, smile and show them that there is nothing to fear." _

"Good morrow," Vadoma said as the two stopped in front of her.

The woman nodded back to her, "Good morrow."

"Would you care for one of my apples, Madame?" Vadoma asked kindly, a sweet smile on her full lips.

"I would have two," the woman returned. "If you can spare them."

"Of course," Vadoma held out her basket. "Please take the two that you favor."

The little girl that stood by her mother looked up curiously at the gypsy, her thumb in her mouth.

Vadoma's heart softened instantly. "Hello there, Mademoiselle."

The girl grinned and waved at her.

"You are a beautiful lady," Vadoma commented. "How old are you?"

The girl held up three fingers.

"Three cycles?"

Her mother smiled down at her daughter, "She just turned four, yesterday."

"Happy birthday!" Vadoma clapped her hands together in excitement.

The girl giggled at her antics, and seemed to warm up to her.

"Can you tell her thank you, Madeline?" The woman encouraged.

"Thank you," the small child said shyly.

"You are very welcome, Mademoiselle Madeline."

The woman held up two beautiful apples, "How much?"

"One franc," Vadoma answered.

"Only one franc? Such a low price?" The woman questioned.

"I could not ask for more, Madame." Vadoma answered truthfully. "Gypsies can't charge the regular price within the city limits."

"Nonsense," the woman held out two coins in her hand. "You must take two. It is only fair."

"Ma'am-" Vadoma began, but the look in the other woman's eyes told her, she would not take no for an answer.

Vadoma was touched by the woman's kindness and silently accepted the francs. "Thank you," she whispered.

The woman inclined her head slightly. "A good day to you," she said with a genuine smile as she and her child turned to leave.

"Good day," Vadoma called after them, her heart full.

The gypsy had never known such kindness outside of the court, and wondered if there were still decent people in Paris after all. _**"I suppose so . . . Otherwise you would not be holding an extra franc in your purse."**_She reasoned with a giggle.

The gypsy girl walked down the street, continuing her outcries to the crowd of people, praying that more people would want her apples.

Little did she know that unwanted eyes had watched her exchange with the woman and her child, and seen the extra coin.

The two men followed silently behind the gypsy girl, there job clear.

Finally Vadoma stopped walking as an older man began to converse with her about the apples. The two men realizing their chance silently stepped up to either side of her and grabbed her forearms.

Vadoma eyes grew wide as she looked at her captors; and she felt fear. Her would be customer quickly walked away, his eyes planted on the ground. For he knew better than to catch the guard's eyes.

Vadoma finally gathering her thoughts said, "Good morrow gentlemen . . . have I done something wrong?"

As soon as the words left her mouth she knew they were a mistake. The guard on her right brought his hand back in a slapping motion, and Vadoma cried out as his gloved hand struck her cheek.

"You will speak when spoke to gypsy!" He said in a dangerous voice.

Vadoma whimpered as his grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back so that she was looking up at him.

"You intimidated a good Christian woman into giving you more than your goods were worth." The guard said angrily.

Vadoma against better judgment answered, "She insisted that I take two francs! I could not refuse her!" Her voice was urgent as she told them the truth, but from the look in their eyes she knew they did not believe her.

"We shall see if a day on the rack won't stop you from spreading falsehoods and vicious lies." The guard said, dragging her forward.

"No, no, please!" Vadoma began to cry. "I'll give you the francs!"

The men ignored her pleas and continued to drag her through the crowds. Yelling, _make way_, at anyone who stepped foot into their designated path. Vadoma continued to struggle, remembering all the horrible stories she had ever heard about the Palace of Justice and what they did to gypsies inside their walls.

"Please!" She screamed out towards the crowd that had gathered around them, "Help me!"

But no one did. No one would look her in the eye.

Vadoma felt her stomach sink, she was alone.

As they drew closer to the Palace of Justice, Vadoma stopped struggling. What was the use? No one was going to help her, and she wasn't strong enough to fight two guards on her own.

The girl said a silent prayer as they walked through an alleyway. _"Ave Maria, watch over me in my time of need, and forgive me of my trespasses. . ." _

Vadoma wanted to say more, but no more words came to her. She was frozen in fear.

The alleyway was dark, for the two buildings that lined it were tall and had been made close together, so that the rooftops almost touched. Hardly any sunlight shined through as the trio made their way through.

Just as they had reached the middle mark, one of the guards cried out loudly.

Vadoma felt the hand on her left arm loosen and then let go altogether. As she looked over in surprise, she saw him fall to the ground a knife sticking out of his back.

The guard who was still standing quickly drew Vadoma close his arm pressed around her throat, choking her. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

Vadoma squinted her eyes, trying to see who had thrown the knife, but with the dim light it was impossible to tell.

After several seconds of silence, a voice answered the question, _**"I am the spirit of freedom."**_

"What do you want?" The guard called out in a shaky voice.

"_**I want you to let the girl go, and return to your duties." **_

The guard tightened his grip on Vadoma, as if she would disappear into thin air.

"I will not! She was caught stealing!"

"_**Let her go, and all is forgiven." **_The voice promised.

"NO!" The guard yelled, squeezing Vadoma's neck even tighter, making her cling to his him, trying to breath.

"_**Very well," **_the voice whispered. It dripped with malice. Before the guard had time to respond, a man had jumped down behind him, and had sliced his throat in one quick motion. Vadoma screamed as his blood spurted all over her. The guard sputtered as he drowned in his own vital fluids, before he slumped downward.

Vadoma pushed away from the guard, sobbing. Her mind exploding with unwanted thoughts. _"He's dead . . . Because of you." _

Vadoma didn't realize that she had sunk to the cobblestone at her feet, nor did she notice how she had grabbed the hand of the dead soldier and begun to rub it vigorously, trying to bring him back to life. Only when she felt two strong arms around her did she grasp where she was.

The girl clung to the arms around her and cried bitterly. "He's dead . . ." She sobbed desolately. "He's dead . . . because of me."

"No," Clopin answered kissing her hair. "He's dead because of me."

"If I hadn't-" Vadoma began, but she couldn't finish. Her tears had overwhelmed her.

Clopin picked up the distraught girl in his arms, like he had many times when she was small, and walked out of the alleyway. He was dressed in a gray cloak, and Vadoma pressed her head into it.

As they drew out of the alley, the sun once more touched their skin, but all Vadoma felt was despair.

"Hush, Mon Cher." Clopin whispered tenderly. "We'll be home soon."

Vadoma didn't hear his words. She didn't hear anything but her own words repeated over and over. _"He's dead, because of you." _


	6. Chapter Five: Song of the Court

**Song of the Court**

* * *

><p>It had been three weeks time since Clopin had saved Vadoma from the city guards. And despite her recent trauma, the young woman was slowly beginning to heal. During the day she would do her duties and help wherever help was needed. She would stay optimistic throughout the sunlit hours, but at night when all others were fast asleep, she could still hear the guards cry-out as they died, and she could still see their bodies as they became lifeless shells.<p>

The first handful of nights after she had been rescued, Vadoma had awoken crying, a breathless scream on her lips, like that of a banshee in the desert.

And every time she cried out, Clopin was there, by her side, comforting her. He would console and sing to her, and he never asked her what she dreamed about. For he knew full well why she cried into his shoulder late at night. He saw the anguish in her loving eyes, and the way her soul had been burdened by the deaths of the city guards. It was something that would stay with her forever, in her heart and mind. . .

Vadoma's swollen cheek from where the guard had slapped her had turned yellow, like all bruises do, and was well on its way of disappearing completely. _"If only, my memory would heal as fast," _Vadoma had thought in despair. _"If only. . ." _

Currently the young woman sat within the center of the Court of Miracles, watching as the nightly festivities took place. It was Monday once more, and since the Gypsies had returned from their day of selling it was time to eat and dance around the large bonfire that had been built earlier that day on a pyre in the exact center of the Court. Though this was a regular occurrence, everyone eagerly looked forward to the chance to let go of their worries and dance.

Vadoma enjoyed dancing, but tonight her heart just wasn't in it. She had far too much on her mind to think about where she was stepping and weaving.

"Vadoma!"

The young woman looked up to see her younger sister smiling down at her, her beautiful green eyes sparkling in the incandescent light of the great fire.

"Go and dance sister," Vadoma commanded gently. "The night is still young."

Esmeralda shook her head making her dark curls bounce around her face in an alluring way. "Not a chance Vadoma."

Vadoma smiled, indulging her younger sister, as she usually did. "Why won't you dance, La Esmeralda?"

Esmeralda bent down before her sister so that she was looking up into her face, her eyes sincere. "Why should I dance when my sister does not?"

Vadoma's eyes softened and she pulled Esmeralda into a hug. "Thank you dearest. . . But you mustn't deny yourself the thing you love the most on my account. We both know you cannot keep still. . . Even in sleep you move!"

Esmeralda laughed and it was a pure sound, like a twinkling bell being held aloft. At the sound, Vadoma felt her heartbreak slightly. For when Esmeralda laughed sounded just like their mothers had, when she had been alive.

After a moment Esmeralda stood up to her full height and grabbed both of Vadoma's hands in her own. "I will not take no for an answer, my sister. You _MUST_ join me!"

Vadoma groaned, but allowed her sister to drag her up from her sitting position. The two walked toward the center of the large crowd of gypsies, all the while swaying to the music that played throughout the Court. Once they had reached the fire's edge, Esmeralda let go of Vadoma's hands and began to truly dance. Vadoma watched her for a moment, before she as well began to dance.

Back and forth, dipping and swaying, twirling and twisting. Stepping back and forth, and using their hands, the two danced as they had been taught. But tonight they didn't dance for money. No, tonight they danced for their pleasure alone.

As Vadoma shook her hips to the passionate rhythm she smiled as she saw Gwenevere approaching them from within the crowd.

"Gwen!" Esmeralda called happily. "Come and dance by us!"

Gwenevere, Queen of the Court of Miracles, heeded the request and made her way to the two girls and joined them in the hypnotic dance, swaying back and forth like a leaf in the autumn winds. Together they danced as a group, using each other as a balance of sorts, as they had done on the streets of Paris several times before. It was a dance they had created, and a dance only they knew.

After what seemed like hours, the tribal beat stopped and stillness fell around them.

Gwen smiled at her surrogate daughters, kissing both of their foreheads. "You both are beautiful dancers. . . I could not be more proud of you, my daughters."

All three females laughed and gathered into a group hug. Kissing one another's cheeks as was custom, they departed company. Gwen to stand at the Clopin's side, and Vadoma and Esmeralda to the female part of the circle, where they would do a final dance to bring the night's festivities to a close. It was a ritual that every gypsy knew by heart, and looked forward to. The King and Queen of the Court would sing a song and end before the final chime of the clock. This ritual signified a new day in the Kingdom of the Gypsies and was special for everyone who lived in the underground city.

Vadoma stood next to her sister, though she faced forward, her eyes locked on that of the man that stood opposite her as was tradition.

Clopin Trouillefou took his place on a platform high above the gypsies and the silence manifested. This was the time where there was absolute silence in the Court of Miracles. For ten whole minutes, all stood quietly, giving a moment to those that had been lost, and those that lived. They thought of the darkness and the light, and of love and despair. They thought of the sky and the earth and how at times they became one. Everything one could think of or name, the gypsies blessed with their thoughts and prayers. Children and Adults alike stood side by side, thinking of the earth and all the things they had been given. It was the one time, when the world seemed to stop and time seemed to stand still in the Court. . . It was a time of thanksgiving and peace.

As the ten minutes passed, Clopin addressed them.

"Brothers and Sisters, we are bounded forever. Pain and joy we share together here in the Court of Miracles. Join me now in one last dance to welcome the dawn!"

At the King's words, men and woman, children and the old began to walk towards each other. At their King's command, they danced the dance of the Court of Miracles. And as they danced together Clopin sang with his wife, high on the platform, watching over their subjects with a parental like gaze.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>We are brothers forever, pain and joy we share together." <strong>_

"_**For the outcasts of the earth, there's no heaven there's no hell. . . There's no heaven or hell."**_

"_**We are the ones no one sees; we are the ones who can eat, through the world as we please."**_

* * *

><p>Together, Clopin and Gwenevere sang, giving their blessing on the Court of Miracles with the age old song. And the residents of the Court would chant, "The Court of the Miracles" during each chorus.<p>

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>We are brothers forever, pain and joy we share together." <strong>_

"_**For the outcasts of the earth, there's no heaven there's no hell."**_

"_**There's no heaven or hell . . ." **_

"_**We are the ones no one sees; we are the ones who can eat, through the world as we please."**_

_**"The blood and the wine are always running red."**_

_(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles)_

"_**By thieves and by whores you know the dance is led."**_

_(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles)_

"_**The blind man will see and all the cripples dance."**_

_(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles.)_

"_**We're born to be hung and so we take a chance."**_

_(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles)_

_(Court of the miracles, court of the miracles.)_

_**"We are all of the same race here, the same invisible face here."**_

"_**For the outcasts of the world, there's no country there's no god."**_

"_**There's no country or god." **_

"_**These rags we wear are our flags, It is the shade of my skin, and it's that of your skin."**_

"_**The gypsies and tramps they sing the same old song.**_"

_(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles)._

"_**You know none of us, will be alive too long."**_

_(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles)._

"_**The killers and thieves all share a loving curse."**_

_(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles)_

"_**We make one mistake and then the game is up."**_

_(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles)._

_(Court of the miracles, court of the miracles.)_

* * *

><p>The gypsies all danced with passion, as if it were the last they would ever have the chance to perform. With each passing moment the song became stronger than before, pulsing like the heart of the people, strong and unwavering.<p>

Gwen and Clopin continued to sing together, their voices merging in such a way that the air seemed to freeze over and burn at the same time. It was a moment of remembering and meaning.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>The blood and the wine are always running red."<strong>_

(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles.)

"_**By thieves and by whores you know the dance is led." **_

(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles)

"_**The blind man will see and all the cripples dance."**_

(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles)

"_**We're born to be hung and so we take our chance."**_

_(At the court of the miracles, court of the miracles)._

_(Court of the miracles, court of the miracles.)_

_**"The killers and thieves they sing the same old song."**_

_(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles.)_

"_**You know none of us will be alive too long."**_

_(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles.)_

"_**The killers and thieves will share a loving cup."**_

_(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles)_

"_**We make one mistake and then the game is up."**_

_(At the court of the miracles, the court of the miracles.)_

_(Court of the miracles, court of the miracles.)_

* * *

><p>All danced and sang with mirth, for as long as there had been a Court of Miracles, they had paid tribute with this song. It was older than anyone could recall and each King and Queen had had years to sing it with their subjects.<p>

It was tradition. . . It was their way of life. Knowing that the song was coming to a close, everyone stopped dancing, and turned to the East, welcoming the new day as the clocked chimed twelve times. And as a whole they chanted: _**"At the Court of the Miracles . . . At the Court of the Miracles . . . The Court of the Miracles . . ."**_

* * *

><p>As the song ended within the Court of Miracles, an unknown figure stepped into the secret passageway of mirrors and made his way down into the secret lair of the gypsies. If he had known what awaited him, he wouldn't have come. But at the moment he was unaware of the consequences he would pay for trespassing in the Court of Miracles.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_

_**The song used is called, Le Cour Des Miracles from Notre Dame de Paris.**_** And the figure entering the Court is none other than our favorite Bard/Poet! Can't wait to write the next chapter! ****  
><strong>

**~Lyn Harkeran**


	7. Chapter Six: A Man Without Luck

**A Man Without Luck**

* * *

><p><strong>{Earlier that Night . . .} <strong>

Night had fallen on Paris and the usually busy streets surprisingly empty. Only one man could be seen walking along the cobbled stoned streets, but no one noticed him. Nay, he wasn't very noticeable in his surroundings.

The man was nothing more than a simple bard, a teller of tales and a singer of songs. He wasn't well known, or exceptionally good at his trade, but he wasn't bad at it either. His name was Pierre Gringoire.

It had been a long taxing day for the bard, and he was being to show signs of fatigue as he passed through the deserted walkways. He hadn't had anything to eat since early that morning, and his stomach had had no qualms about complaining to him.

"Shush now," he scolded impatiently. "Your mumbling won't do either of us any good, now will it?"

His stomach yet again protested, but this time louder.

Pierre frowned, "You aren't going to leave me be, are you?"

His stomach remained strangely quiet for a moment and the poet threw his hands up in the air. "Fie, have it your way! I'll go to the Saint Denis and the Place de Greve and see if Camille has any scraps for her favorite bard before I delight myself with the services of Le Val D'amour. Then shall go to the Port de Paris for the remainder of the night, if that is to your liking?"

When his stomach growled loudly the poet smirked, "I knew you would like that. . . Now feet, follow my lead and we shall be there in the blinking of an eye!"

The Bard picked up his pace, a wonderful destination in mind. Food, a beautiful woman to keep him company, and then bed; it didn't get much better than that.

But Gringoire was in for a surprise, for things hardly ever go as we plan. At least not when there is a fresh gold piece in our pocket and a nice coat on our shoulders.

* * *

><p>The Place de Greve was an irregular shaped square that connected to the well-known street, Saint Denis. With a watery quay on one side and the Val D'amour whore house and inn on the other it was a very busy spot. It was boxed in by the bay and was only a hop-skip-and a jump from the Port of Paris and the Cemetery La Condamne. If you were poor, a low life, or wished for carnal pleasures, it was the ideal place to be.<p>

Gringoire made his way to Le Val D'amour where he was a frequent visitor and advisor, with a cheery smile on his lips. Tonight would be a good night.

The poet walked into the brothel and made his way to the counter where a stern looking woman stood, pouring out drinks to the sailors and other types of men that called out to her. Gringoire laid his hands on the counter and put on his most charming smile before he cleared his throat.

The woman looked over at him with a raised eyebrow before she walked over to him.

"If it isn't the Prince of Paris himself," the woman guffawed loudly, using his nickname sarcastically. "What can I do for ya, Gringoire? Come to enough my girls have you? Or is it a stiff drink you're looking for?"

Gringoire laughed pleasantly. "I'm afraid it is neither Camille. I merely wished to be in your virtuous company."

The woman snorted in amusement, "Virtuous eh? Well I suppose YOU would like a girl with no backbone."

Gringoire frowned slightly, "Virtuous doesn't mean weak, Camille."

"In my business it does," Camille countered gruffly before her smile returned. "So Poet, what do you want? I know that it isn't my banter and harsh words."

The Bard tried to look innocent, "Why would I have another reason to visit my favorite Mistress in all of Paris, than to enjoy her company?"

"Come now Gringoire," she chided while pouring another man a stiff cup of ale. "Tell me your business or away with ya."

"Do you have any food left Madame for a hungry man; your favorite Poet?" Gringoire asked. "Or must I go and beg like a waif in the street?"

Camille studied him with a hard, calculating eye, before she pulled out a large pot from underneath the counter. With further inspection the bard saw that it was a stew of some sort: a very disgusting light gray colored stew with random chunks floating around on the surface in a frightening display.

Gringoire visibly gulped and Camille smiled and explained.

"These are the leftovers from dinner."

When the poet still didn't talk Camille continued, "Take it or leave it bard. Beggars can't be choosers ya know."

Gringoire nodded, "Indeed. I suppose you had better pour me out a bowl then, before I lose my appetite."

Camille chuckled as she pulled out a chipped plastic bowl and filled it with the lukewarm substance, before she handed it to him.

Gringoire slowly lifted the bowl to his lips and took an experimental sip. To his surprise it tasted . . . good.

"That is very good," the poet commented taking another long sip. "Surprisingly so. . ."

"Aye," Camille agreed, "Though I couldn't tell you its contents."

"What do you mean?"

Camille nodded towards the far side of the bar-room to a table in the corner. Gringoire followed her gaze and spotted a nasty looking old crone with a tattered old gypsy dress nursing a gin and tonic.

"That old bitty was the one who went and made the soup." Camille shrugged. "She comes in from time to time and does the odd chore for me in return for a bottle of gin or a spare room from time to time. But it's strange. . ."

"Strange?" Gringoire encouraged.

"Aye, very strange. . . She barters for rooms in my Inn on occasion, but she herself never stays there. It's always another gypsy who she brings to stay."

Gringoire did agree that this was strange news, but he wouldn't admit it to the woman. "So she made the stew?"

Camille nodded.

"Gringoire smiled at her and immediately stood, "Thank you Camille. As always, it's been a pleasure."

Camille mockingly bowed to him, "Goodbye Bard, come to see me soon. It's nice to laugh with you now and again."

The Poet bowed back to her gracefully before he walked away from the main counter and approached the old gypsy crone that sat in the corner. As he drew near he could see her large dark eyes come up to meet his.

"May I sit with you?" He asked respectfully.

The old woman looked at him with wary eyes, "I would say no, but then you could have me arrested by the palace guards for any amount of things. . ."

Gringoire grin instantly disappeared and he took the seat next to her, though she still had not consented to his request.

"Please Madame, I am not here to hurt or threaten you."

When the woman still looked skeptical he sighed hopelessly. "I merely wished to give you payment for your services."

The old woman looked confused and lifted an eyebrow at him. "Payment? . . . You would give payment to a Gypsy woman?"

Gringoire smiled gently as he placed a single gold coin on the table top and slid it towards her. "You make a divine stew."

When the woman made no move to take the coin he whispered, "Please take it."

The old woman smiled for the first time since he had sat down, showing that she had no teeth.

"You have a good heart boy, I'll give you that. And I will remember your kindness, but I cannot accept your gift."

Just as she was about to push the coin back to him, another hand snatched the gold piece and pocketed.

Both the crone and Gringoire looked up in surprise to see a very tall man standing above them. He was covered in tatty clothes and a small cap that barely stayed on his very large head. Both the gypsy and bard instantly recognized him as a sailor.

"You have taken something that does not belong to you, sailor." Gringoire stated angrily. "Please return the gold piece to its rightful owner."

The sailor using colorful language spat on the poet. "It's my gold piece now scum."

Gringoire judged the man before him and decided that if it came down to a fight that he would surely loose. So he did the only sensible thing he could do, he slowly stood from his spot and quickly addressed the old crone. "I am sorry, Madame. But it seems that your payment has been taken."

The crone said nothing, and she didn't move. She merely watched.

The poet tried to walk pass the large man, but was stopped by the man's hands on his shoulders.

"Wait scum."

Gringoire felt his stomach drop.

"Do you have more gold on you?"

The Bard quickly shook his head. "Nay. . . That was my last."

The sailor smiled wickedly, "I don't believe you."

Gringoire tried to run, but the man was too fast. Before he had time to really register what was happening, the bard began to receive a severe beating.

* * *

><p>Gringoire winced as the man gave him one last kick to the ribs, and went on his way.<p>

The Bard no longer had a penny to his name, or for that matter his lovely patched blue coat. The man had taken everything of value and left him in the gutter in the center of the Place de Greve. Gringoire slowly sat up, moaning in pain.

"You are a fool for waving that gold around."

Gringoire looked up to the voice and saw the old gypsy crone standing several feet away.

"I just- just wanted to pay you."

The crone laughed mirthlessly. "Well, it was a sweet thought, but as I said before not a smart one."

The bard lowered his eyes from the old woman ashamed at the state he was currently in. But looked up when she spoke again, this time much closer than before.

"It was foolish. . . But I am still in your debt stranger. Whenever you need food or drink, or shelter go to the Val D'amour and give Camille my name. I am Old Gypsy Helene. She will take care of you and get word back to me."

The bard was speechless, so the old woman took her leave. Though she called back over her shoulder once more, "Peace be with you, Monsieur. And . . . Thank you."

In that one moment, Pierre Gringoire made a life changing decision. Slowly he stood from the ground and began to follow the path the old woman had taken.

Little did he know that it would lead to The Court of Miracles the secret underground city of the gypsies. But if he had, perhaps it wouldn't have made a difference. Perhaps he would have chosen his fate anyway.

But that is speculation, and as such we must let it lie.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_

**_It's been a while since I updated this story, but it's a very delicate business staying in character and maintaining a feeling for a story. I'm sure you all understand. . . ^^" _**

**_Anyway, I would personally like to thank all of your who have read this story so far, for all the faves, reviews and watches! You guys are the best! _**

**_But I would like to extent a personal thank you to my newest friend _**Nikki-Grey _**She gave me the courage to write this next chapter! Thanks hun! **_

**_Please review if you read! _**

**_~ Lyn Harkeran_**


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